


In All Her Stubborness

by 914321



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 16:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15562146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/914321/pseuds/914321
Summary: A young woman reflects on her life with the man she loves [Short form prose compilation].





	In All Her Stubborness

**Author's Note:**

> These are more headcanons set to prose than anything so I apologise for the sloppiness of the actual writing. I had always been reluctant to put anything on other than proper prose but I'm still very fond of these things I've written and took me a very long time to admit that this is actually writing.

When Gascoigne first met Viola, there was an unexplained spark between them.

He had only just arrived to Yharnam and sought shelter in the first home he could find.  
At the time, hunters were still welcomed, especially in Yharnam where the scourge was great and the beasts plentiful.

Viola had been the daughter of the innkeep there, and when her father asked her to come greet their guest she snaked into the room with a guile that he did not often see in young women and she smiled in a way he did not see young women smile.

She dropped a perfect curtsy, but when she looked at him and smiled, it was hungry and it was sly and it was not unlike the bloodlust of hunters.

‘I apologise for my daughter’s manners.’ Her father grumbled, when she made a remark, completely out of turn, that it seemed unfair for a man to be both a hunter and a holy person.

‘It’s alright.’ Gascoigne waved it to one side and watched as the girl slinked away.

It didn’t bother him at all.  


* * *

 

Weeks passed and Father Gascoigne had established himself to be a heavily reliable asset. As a hunter. As a holy man.

He went down the river to clean up when he heard the splashing of water and faint giggling. Upon closer inspection he saw two girls, heavy in conversation. One of them, a ruddy round girl with a mess of dark curls. One of them was Viola.

As he approached the two, the brunette immediately turned red with shock and shrank away. Viola saw him and stood up, her green skirt was damp and clung onto her legs like fins. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and tendrils of hair escaped her lazily made bun.

‘I slipped and fell into the river.’ She explained, ‘We were waiting for our clothes to dry.’

That, he did not believe, he thought as he eyed her unlaced bodice and the marks lurking under the shadow of her collar. By the look on her face, she looked as if she did not care that he did not believe her.

‘But what are you doing here, Father?’

‘Hunting the beasts.’ He grunted.

‘Oh?’

‘I would love to go on those hunts.’

‘They’re not for a young girl like yourself.’

She laughed.

‘Oh dear father, what do you know about young girls like myself?’

His eyes darted down, briefly, but it was enough for her to notice.

She snickered again, it was rough and sharp, and pulled away to join her companion once more. But her gaze lingered.

 

* * *

  
They both knew what this was about.

During sermons, he could see the way she slithered into the front of the pews - very unlike her, he would point out afterwards. As if someone like her was so pious. As if the looks she gave him were as reverent.

Not that he made much effort to avert such attention.

‘I’ve seen the way you look at me, Father.’ She once pointed out after the sermon was over and the church was empty once again, “I see the way you’re looking at me now.’

He didn’t say anything at first, but he didn’t balk at her comments either.

‘It’s not appropriate if the town were to know I took advantage of a girl like yourself.’

‘Would the town disapprove if _I_ took advantage of their dear hunter then?’’ She asked. She put one hand on his chest and pushed.

She was much younger than him and yet one look from her could make him sit, compliant.

 

* * *

_‘You know that I am a hunter.’_

_‘I don’t think I would forget. You hardly let me forget.’_

_‘I could make you unhappy.’_

_‘I don’t care. And I don’t think you do either.’_

 

But oh he did, of course he did.

 

* * *

 

_Small hands slipped over his eyes and drew his head back against a warm body. Before he could react, Gascoigne smelled flowers, perfume and under that the familiar spiced scent of cinnamon._

_He chuckled, ‘Viola.’_

_There was a small laugh that he knew very well and the arms pulled him closer into her chest. He could imagine her hair, rolled up and clipped back like bales of fresh hay, and her sun splattered skin. A woman whose manners are too uncomely to be masked by her modest looks, a woman with her fierce sharp laugh and eyes that always smiled. She was half his size, a dozen years younger than him and yet she pinned him there in his seat, his captor._

_It’s bad luck for a man to see his bride before the wedding’, he said, gently humoured._

_It’s fine, Father.’ She answered and twiddled her long fingers, ‘I’ll keep my hands tight on you and you will never see a thing.’_

_He sighed, exasperated but could not hide the rumbling humour in his voice, ‘Pray, what would they say if they see you gone?’_

_I have been to the woods to be merry and wild before I wed.’ She replied, pressing her face into the nape of his neck and breathing in his fine scent. Her breath was hot against his skin and he resisted the urge to turn and look at her._

_‘And what would they say if they see me here with scratches on my neck and my cheeks clawed?’_

_‘Anxiety is a devil that haunts a man, and you clawed yourself in worry and fret for your unbroken bride!’ She replied as his hand reached out and tangled themselves into the nest of her braid, pulling it loose and threading them through his large warm fingers._

_‘And what would they say if they see you a mess? Your clothes askew and your hair immodest?’_

_She paused and leaned forward on her tiptoes, eyes wicked and she whispered, ‘You never know what you find in the woods.’_  


* * *

They had two children, two girls, whom they both loved fiercely - Clara and Evelyn.

Evelyn, or Evie as they often called her, was a sweet child if not a little bit timid and cried very easily. She was a born a little bit frail but full of spirit, a fighter until the very end.

Her older sister however--

‘Clara, please don’t scratch your sister! What is wrong with you, child!’

She was better when she was younger, docile was a good word for her. Passive was an even better word for her because it seemed there was something about her that she could not explain. The girl seemed almost feral some days, almost fixated on her father when he came home reeking of blood.

When Evie was a little bit older, she attacked her for no other reason than, Viola dreaded the thought when she came to it, because she was bored.

Viola tried her best with her, she really did. But they never taught her what to do when your child is beastly. The taught her to spank, to scold, to curse, to lock but they never taught her how to love a child who was beastly.

But she will do fine, everything will be fine.

 

* * *

Her ritual after he returned was always the same, light the incense in the room, start up the music box that he had given to her the day Clara was born. Things to drive the bloodlust away. Things to help him remember he was human.

Gascoigne was losing it no matter what she did. There was days he would come home wild and blood-drunk after a hunt, restless and pacing like an animal until she finally calmed him down. Gascoigne’s eyes slowly got worse, it was messy business when she finally helped pulled them out. They were too soft and came away almost too easily. She threw them into the pail that she laid out beside him with a damp cloth she had used to clean his hands and face.

She would miss those eyes, deep brown and bright. She loved looking at them.

But she has no time for sentimentality; he was alive and that was more than enough for her.

 

_‘She’s like me.’_

_‘Who?’ She asked, winding the bandages around his face._

_‘Clara.’_

_Viola stopped, and then she smiled and put her arms around him, ‘she certainly looks a lot like you, especially your eyes. And she’s smart, and quiet-’_

_‘A beast.’_

_Her hands lowered, ‘Don’t say that.’_

_‘We both are.’_

_‘Don’t say that!’_

_There was a pause. Gascoigne knew how she must look like, sleeves covered in blood, her fists balled up and her skin so pale from hiding inside. She lost most of the girlishness of her looks a long time ago, she looked tired._

_‘We can’t keep doing this to you, Viola.’ He said quietly, ‘If you just take Evie and--’_

_‘Gascoigne.’ Her hands cupped his face and she pressed her forehead against his, ‘I won’t let this family fall apart. You can ask me this but I won’t and I can’t. We can do this, and we will do this together.’_

 

She believed herself when she said that. Even when she had just gouged out her husband's eyes. Even though she kept Clara locked up in her room at night. Even when Evie cried into her breast. Even when she stopped crying a long time ago.

Everything would be

Alright.

* * *

_My dearest Viola,_

_Tonight is the last night I will speak to you._

_Keep our children safe through the night._

_And if I should return. Please, lock the door._

 

The last night of her life, Viola was furious. And that fury and anger and pain and grief and love was what ruined her in the end.

She didn’t take the music box with her when she left. She didn’t check on the children. She didn’t think of anything but simply knotted up her boots and ran out into the night, the night when a hunt was going on, to look for her husband.

Only a woman as shrewd and bold as her could come out unscathed when beasts were about. She knew Yharnam better than anyone, familiar with all the ins and outs during those nights when she would look for Gascoigne. When she used to be a little girl lurking in the streets. 

When she found him, she flew at him with her fists balled out and her hackles raised. How could he leave her, how could he give up on them, she kept crying out.

She will take him back, she will bring her husband back, she wouldn’t leave him behind. 

But when he finally turned to face her, it was only then did she realise he was long gone.


End file.
